


The Twenty-First Night of September

by CrazyPrepared (writerofberk)



Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Dual POV, F/M, Mutual Pining, Mutual pining doesn't start for a while though rip, Pre-film, Pre-film AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 03:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerofberk/pseuds/CrazyPrepared
Summary: The Giver is just the sweetest, nicest, most thoughtful, most considerate troll in the entire village, because Poppy says so, and Poppy is never wrong. She just kind of didn't think maybe the Giver might be Branch. // The AU no one asked for.





	The Twenty-First Night of September

"Are you  _sure_  about all this, Poppy?" Smidge asked, for what had to be the thousandth time, big, deceptively soft-looking baby-blue eyes wide as they could go, apprehension and uncertainty plain on her little face. "Just think about what you're missing!" She swept a small hand through the air, fingers spread, and gestured loosely to the crowd of colorful trolls below, packed shoulder-to-shoulder, bodies swaying energetically to DJ's latest mix—which was _amazing_ , by the way, as always, Poppy was going to absolutely shower the girl in hugs and compliments the _minute_  the party wound down—

Oh. Right. Reassure Smidge. Gotta reassure Smidge.  _Focus, Poppy. This is too important for distractions._

She pulled her lips up in the brightest smile she could manage, and nodded enthusiastically. "I know, I  _know_ , it's all  _so_  super-amazing-tastic, I  _love it_ , but—but I—" if she let herself close her eyes she knew she'd see the lonely little figure in her mind, as dark and mysterious and unreachable as they always were, lingering nervously on the edge of the village with hungry, unseen eyes fixed on the dancing trolls below, watching and watching and watching and  _never joining_ —Poppy felt the grin on her face begin to falter. "—I  _can't_ ," there was no way anyone but Smidge could hear her over the deafening pound of DJ's music, but she dropped her voice to a whisper anyway—no need to drag the whole party down with her, "I—I can't _stand_  the thought that there's a troll out there somewhere who's not having fun like the rest of us. They deserve to be happy as much as we do, they deserve to be as happy as they've made _us_."

The words bolstered Poppy, even if they were her own—she even mustered the strength to hitch her smile back on her face. Somewhere out there, creeping unseen and unknown and, worst of all,  _unthanked_ , through the gloom of the village was a troll who cared, who cared so much they sacrificed their every Harvest Moon to bring the rest of the town a night full of wonder and laughter and love and happiness—somewhere out there was a troll who  _cared_ , who wanted with everything in them to make people happy, and Poppy would spend her whole life, if she had to, making sure they got some of that happiness back.

"But that's just  _it_ , Poppy," Smidge spread her hands out helplessly, "what if they're happy  _the way they are_? And even if they  _aren't_ , it's not like we can do anything about it! We have no idea who they are!"

"I know," Poppy admitted—God, did she know. The music-playing, confetti-spraying thank-you cards _obviously_  hadn't been special enough for the mystery gift-giver to reveal themselves—she'd even rigged up one to sing a song she'd written  _herself_! Specifically  _for_ the Giver! Maybe the title had been too on the nose? "The Gratitude Song" didn't leave much room for imagination, she had to admit.

But the anonymous troll had even snubbed the _parties_! How many crazy-loud recognition parties had she promised to throw them if only they'd come forward?! Flashing lights! A minimum five pounds of glitter! Disco balls! A special thank-you mix from DJ Suki herself! What more could any troll in their right mind even  _want_?!

Well—Poppy hastily fought off the giggle bubbling in the back of her throat— _Branch_  probably would have snubbed the parties. Would have called them a "safety hazard", or something like that. He was really funny that way. Ooh, just  _wait_  'til she got to tell Branch she'd found out who the Giver was! Of course, she still had to do the actual finding-out part, but when she did,  _ooh_! She couldn't wait to rub his smirking face in it. He was so  _infuriatingly confident_  that no one would ever,  _ever_  know, and always asked annoyingly pointed questions that made her wonder—"If this 'Gifter' weirdo wants to remain anonymous, shouldn't you respect that?"—and shot her that snarky little half-smile at the end of it. Yeah, she was gonna have some  _serious_ fun with Branch, just as soon as she'd unmasked the Giver.

She threw her shoulders back and stood up a little straighter at the thought. If nothing else, she could at least have the satisfaction of giving Branch a big, fat  _I told you so._

"I'm gonna head out," she told Smidge, and bounced to the edge of the giant flat-topped orange mushroom. "See you later!" She threw herself straight down into the heart of the wildly-dancing crowd, laughing out loud into the breeze rushing past her face, and ripping all the breath from her lungs—countless pairs of gentle hands caught her, seized her by the arms or legs or dress, passing her smoothly from troll to troll—she surfed easily all the way to the back of the crowd, slid neatly from Moxie Dewdrop's arms, shot her a quick smile of thanks, and made her way out of the pod.

She didn't let her feet stop moving until she'd gotten a good way away from it all, pausing to adjust from the bright lights and blaring noise of the party to the sudden darkness and silence of the forest staring back at her—the air, when it hit her lungs, tasted uniquely of autumn, sweet and spicy and a touch smoky, too, like the amazing cider Biggie always made special for the Harvest Moon—ooh, she wanted another glass already—

No. No, this was too important to let herself get distracted. Eyes on the prize.

Right. The "prize" being the absolutely ginormous, record-breaking thank-you she'd finally finally finally get to give when she found out the mystery troll's true identity—ooh, she'd planned it all down to the last detail—the Giver would smile, of course they'd smile, who didn't smile when someone thanked them? Ooh, and she'd bet her flower crown that their smile would be the really nice kind that made their whole entire face light up like the sun and—!

_There!_

Poppy's heart nearly ripped itself out of her chest at the sight of the dark, hooded figure, smaller than even Smidge at this distance, darting nimbly from one pod to the next, enormous sack slung over one shoulder, cutting an awkward and lurching and hunchbacked figure in the ivory moonlight.

_Oh, my God! It's happening!_

Okay, okay, okay, stay calm, stay calm, she just needed to stay calm and catch up to them and convince them to tell her who they really were and then she could thank them and together, they could go back to the party and tell the village and everyone would swarm the Giver in hugs and thank-yous and the Giver would never ever have to be sad or alone on the Harvest Moon again, and everything would be all cupcakes and rainbows for everyone! Easy!

_Focus._  Poppy dragged in a breath, and shook out her hair to its fullest length—she wrapped the bubblegum-pink tips around the nearest tree limb, and swung herself up into the sky, swathed momentarily in a blanket of rich sapphire studded with a hundred thousand sparkling stars, landing lightly in the tree with the rough bark scratching painfully at the bottoms of her bare feet. She winced, and lifted her legs to rub at her stinging toes—no, no, no time for that! Poppy gave herself a shake. She had a Giver to thank!

For what felt like hours she flew, weightless, through the all-encompassing dark, with her heart in her mouth and the blood pounding in her ears—the wood sped by beneath her, moon-dusted, leafless trees gleaming faintly silver under the faint light—one branch, then another, then the next—nearly there now—nearly there—

_There_ , that was it! That was the pod the Giver had disappeared into! Only just up ahead! Poppy shimmied across the last limb on her stomach and leapt, like a cat, through the open window—the impact jolted her a bit, reverberating up her legs—she wobbled lightly where she stood, and smothered a swear—Smidge could have pulled it off better—

Oh. Oh, God. Oh, God, the Giver was  _right there_!

Ooh, she could  _scream_ —no, no, she couldn't scream, she _couldn't_! She didn't want to scare them! The Giver hadn't seen her yet—standing with their back to her, and hood pulled up to hide their hair—ugh, unfair, how was she supposed to try and guess who it was if she couldn't see their  _hair_?

Nope, it'd just be more fun this way! She wanted to look the Giver in the eye when she finally unmasked them!

They'd ditched their sack right by the window—already half-empty? This troll worked  _fast_. Respect!—and without the weight, their motions had become quicker, more fluid, actually kind of graceful—

— _bet they're a good dancer, then_ —

The Giver knelt by the bed to put down the poorly-wrapped present in their hand, reached to reposition the bright yellow bow so it sprang up, arching cheerfully toward the pod's low ceiling, and took a little step back, as if to admire the effect—

A sudden, fierce swell of affection flooded up in Poppy's chest—if the gifts themselves weren't telling enough, the tender way this troll touched them certainly was—the half-second they took to spruce them up, make sure they looked their absolute best for their recipient—ooh, she just wanted to hug them!  _Right now_!

No, no, _not_  right now—plenty of time for hugging later—first she had to find out who they were—

Poppy couldn't keep from bouncing a little, up and down, on her toes, fluffy purple carpet muffling the sound. Finally finally finally! The moment was here! The moment had come! After years and years and years of getting the nicest, sweetest, most considerate and thoughtful gifts ever, and getting to see the rest of the village so happy, she finally got to say—

"Thank you!"

The Giver actually _screamed_  out loud—Poppy really felt a bit bad about it, to be honest. They jumped a mile in the air—they'd even put on  _boots_ , she noted in the back of her mind when their feet left the floor—they must be  _seriously_  into this whole anonymity thing. She could only assume the dancer's elegance of only a minute ago had completely deserted them, because after a long minute of stumbling and tottering and flailing and just generally tripping all over themselves, they landed in a messy heap of dark cloth on the carpet.

_Oops_.

"I—I'm sorry!" Poppy barreled from her spot by the window and over to the crumpled form of the fallen Giver, hand rising on instinct to help them back to their feet. "Are you okay?"

"Amazing," The Giver grunted out, in a way that didn't sound like they meant it at all—which didn't make sense, why would anyone say something they  _didn't mean_?

The Giver rolled over on the floor, rudely ignored her outstretched hand, and pushed themselves to their feet—no,  _his_  feet, she corrected herself,  _his_  feet—the thick hood of the black jacket and the dark glasses completely obscured their face, but what little she could see—broad nose, sharp jaw, hollow cheeks—what little she could see belonged to a man, that voice belonged to a man—no—no, not a man—a boy—definitely a boy, she decided, after a second glance, and a boy not much older than her—it took her a second to wrap her mind around the thought—she'd sort of imagined the Giver as an old man, to tell the truth, with grey-streaked hair and wrinkles, like her dad, but even in the shadows, she could see the dull skin was smooth— _dull skin_ —the revelation jolted her—oh, no, oh, no, no, no! Oh, the poor troll, oh, no, his colors must be dimmed, oh, the poor  _thing_ —and his voice, it wasn't a voice she'd ever imagined for the Giver  _at all_ , even when she got past the way it had cracked right in the middle.

The Giver's voice was  _gentle_ , she'd decided, a long time ago, very gentle and soft and benevolent, like ocean waves lapping at the shore, the kind of voice that sounded nice all the time, the kind of voice that was just made for singing and telling stories and reciting poetry and lulling little children to sleep—the kind of voice that just made you want to keep listening— _angelic_ , almost, she'd told herself, but  _this_ —this didn't sound like  _that_ sort of voice at all—no offense to the Giver, no, no, she didn't mean that in a  _bad_  way, just—well, it was all— _rough_  and  _uneven_  and—

—and  _familiar_ —

The Giver tugged lightly at the edges of his hood and stepped past her, head down, face carefully averted—no, no, he was—he was leaving, no, he  _couldn't_  be  _leaving_ —

" _Wait!"_  Poppy pushed her whirling thoughts to the back of her mind, and scrambled after him. "Wait, wait, wait!" She didn't really pause to think about the rest of it—she just sort of. Well. She threw herself at him, wrapped her arms as tight as she could around his black-clad legs, and hauled him back down to the floor. "I don't even know who you  _are_!"

"Poppy—!"

Oh. Oh,  _God._  Her name left his lips, and she  _froze_. There was only one troll in the whole entire village who talked to her like that, with all that—that annoyance, and that exasperation, and that frustration, and—

The glasses slipped off the bridge of his wide nose, and he actually chose to  _press his face to the carpet_  before he'd let himself look at her, but—God, but it didn't  _matter_  anymore, did it, she didn't  _need_ to see his face, she knew, she  _knew_  and there was  _no going back_ —the dull skin, the dimmed colors, it should have been a giveaway,  _how had it not been a giveaway_?!

The Giver was—the Giver—he—he was—

" _Branch?!"_

He stiffened and went still beneath her, gloved hands clenching up in fists against the vibrant violet floor. "I—" For half a second, it sounded like he was about to start yelling at her. "—I'm sorry, Princess," he said instead, in a very, very Not-Branch voice, "I think you must be hearing things, because I can assure you, I am  _not_ —"

"Branch," Poppy cut him off, and pushed herself up on her palms, swinging her legs over his sides to sit on him more comfortably, "give it up." In spite of the disbelief still roiling through her like a storm at sea, she felt a giggle bubbling up in the back of her throat at her choice of words. "Should be easy for you, huh?" She couldn't suppress the laugh anymore, and it erupted uncontrollably out of her, mirth merging with her shock to make the sound more than a little bit hysterical. "Guess you're pretty good at  _giving_."

And Branch—Branch  _hissed_ at her! Actually  _hissed_  at her! Between his teeth! Like a snake! Ooh, she wished she could see his face! He always made the funniest faces when he was flustered.  _"Shut up."_

"'Shut up'?" Poppy clamped her hand over her mouth, but the snort made its way out anyway. "A-and here I thought you had a— _gift_ —for language!"

" _Poppy, I swear to God—!"_

Another loud shout of half-incredulity and half-amusement ripped its way out of her mouth, and she threw back her head—there was no way she could swallow it back anymore—her sides were already beginning to ache in protest, and she clutched weakly for her heaving ribs. Oh, God. Oh, God,  _Branch_  was  _the Giver_. Did not see that coming. At all.

It was just—well, it was just—well, Branch didn't  _care._  About anyone, or anything, except his bunker, but that—that didn't count, Poppy didn't count that, because the bunker wasn't real, it didn't have feelings, so it couldn't care about Branch back and—look. Look. The point. The point was this. Branch didn't care about things.

And that didn't mean he didn't have his good qualities, because he  _did_! Sure, if it came down to it, he'd probably leave the village for dead, but he was funny, and he had lots of interesting things to say about the forest if she only waited him out or wore him down, and he was  _so_  fun to argue with, he always had a comeback for everything, and just because he didn't care about things didn't mean those weren't all good qualities,  _so there_!

But—but if Branch  _was_ the Giver, then that would mean—

— _that would mean—_

"Branch," Poppy said, and the sound of her own voice in her ears startled her, far more than it should have, and she had to swallow and start again, "Branch, why are you doing all this?"

" _God_ , Poppy," Branch's hands fisted against the floor again, and he shifted a little underneath her, " _I don't have time for this_. In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of in a hurry."

"No,  _why_?" Poppy finally had the Giver in her grasp, and she didn't  _care_  anymore that it was Branch, she didn't care that he was grumpy and snarky and hated her parties and didn't like glitter and wouldn't let her hug him at Hug-Time and  _didn't care_ , she finally had the Giver in her grasp, and she wasn't letting him go, not until he'd told her everything there was to tell. "I mean, if you want to give us presents, why don't you just— _give us presents_? Without all—this?"

"I  _don't_ ," Branch growled, "want to give  _any_ of you  _anything_."

"Or—or better yet," Poppy decided to ignore that last part—obviously a blatant lie, right? Right? "Better yet, why don't you just—I don't know,  _not act_  like you can't stand us? I-I mean, if you  _care_ , why don't you  _act_ like it?"

"Okay, fine," Branch pushed himself up on his palms, and twisted over onto his back to look at her—she slipped a little with the sudden movement, but grabbed at his shoulder and held on, "I guess I have to break it down for you, huh? Okay. Here we go.  _I hate every single goddamn one of you_."

"But," Poppy knew well the signs of a full-on Branch bitch-rant, and she needed to head it off like, ten minutes ago. The guy could really just go for hours if you were dumb enough to let him get started. "But you don't. Because you're the Giver."

"Oh, my God, Poppy!" He lifted an arm, and shoved her to the floor in one swift motion. "Okay, fine! I admit it! I'm the Giver! Now let me go! I still have about seven dozen of these left to deliver, the party could end  _any minute_ , I really don't have time for—!"

"The party!" Oh! Oh, God! Ooh, this was going to be even  _more_  fun than chasing the Giver! "Oh, my gosh, Branch, the party! Come on, come on, come on!" She jumped to her feet, and yanked on his arm. "Come on! Up! We gotta get back before it ends!"

"Um." Branch flicked at her knuckles until she let go. "Right. Yeah. Have fun with that." He got to his feet, and dusted off the front of his dark jacket.

"What? No, no, no," Poppy giggled—right, right, her bad! She kind of hadn't really explained that too well, had she? Oh. Well. Fixing! "We gotta tell the  _village_ , my man!"

" _What?!"_ Branch tried to spin around to face her, but he really just did that thing again where he tripped all over himself and flailed. "No! No no no no no no no!  _No!"_  He clumsily regained his balance, and shook his head wildly back and forth, so hard he looked like he was gonna give himself whiplash.

" _Yes!"_  Poppy countered, and nodded vigorously to prove her point. "Just wait until they hear about you, Branch! Oh, buddy, they're gonna  _love_  you!"

"If I did everything so the village would  _love me_ , I'd never have done a useful thing in my entire life."

"I didn't hear that!" Poppy clapped her hands over her ears. "Come on!" She motioned, with her elbow, to the open window. "What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

" _No,"_  Branch repeated, so firmly she could read the word as it formed on his lips. "The village is  _never going to know_."

"But—" Poppy deflated a little. Her hands slipped off her ears. But didn't he—didn't he  _want_ —? "But Branch, how are they supposed to thank you if they don't know it's  _you_?"

"I—I don't—" the pale purple flush crawling up Branch's cheeks glowed like a beacon in the dim light of the empty pod, "—I don't want—" He dragged in a breath, and it sounded painful, like it snagged somewhere in the back of his throat and for half a second, Poppy thought he was going to say—something, she didn't—she didn't know what, but something important, something that mattered, something that meant something and she knew if he did, all the barriers behind his eyes would finally fall and she'd see—

His hands clenched back up in fists. "I don't need," he lifted his head, and stuck out his chin, "I don't  _need_  your _stupid_  gratitude."

Branch turned sharply on his heel, and stomped over to the dark, half-empty sack still waiting for him by the window. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I—"

"Wait!" Poppy edged forward as far as she dared, as far as she thought he'd let her get before he stepped back. "Wait! Let me help!"

Branch dropped the sack again.  _"What?"_

"You said it yourself! The party could end any minute!" Poppy jerked her thumb in the direction of the glowing pod, even though she knew it couldn't be seen from here. "If we split the gifts between us, we can get done with the delivery way before anyone comes home!"

Branch snorted. "Right.  _Yeah_. Like I'm gonna do _that_." He swung the sack back on his shoulder.

_Stubborn ass_. Poppy was seriously about to stamp her foot. "Why not?! No, don't answer that," she added, when he opened his mouth, because that snarky half-smile was already curling up his lip, and she really just could not deal with one of his smart remarks right about now, " _don't_. This is, like, super important to the village! It makes 'em all really happy, Branch! I wanna help with that! Let me help with that!"

And—oh, God, here was officially the craziest part of the entire night—Branch looked at her. Just—just  _looked_  at her. It wasn't a glare, it wasn't a scowl, it wasn't even one of those tired, dead-eyed glances. It wasn't even a smirk, like when he'd just got in a really good jab at her, and had to show off how insufferably cocky he could be. He didn't do any of that. He just  _looked_ at her. Like—oh, God, like he was seriously considering—

"No."

_What?!_

Okay. Fine. That was _fine_! Time to bring out the big guns, Poppy supposed. All was fair in love and war, and all of that. Hmm. No. Gifts and war? Giftery and war? Giftery. Was giftery a word? It should be.

Oops. Sidetracked. She shook her head, and lifted her chin.

"If you don't let me help," she jammed her hands on her hips, and tried to look as intimidating as possible, "I guess I'll just—" she lifted one shoulder, and dropped it an instant later in a half-shrug, "—have to tell the village."

Every last ounce of color drained from Branch's face.

"Mm. Well." She headed for the window straight past him, and smothered a smile when he reflexively stumbled out of her way. Ha! She never made him step aside! She should try this intimidation thing more often. It was fun. "Nice talkin' to you! See ya, Branch!" She stepped to the edge of the window, and shook out her hair for good measure. "Ooh," she added, on impulse, "I'll have to help the kids with their thank-you cards tomorrow, that'll be super-fun!" Okay, now she got why Branch smirked all the time when he said something snarky! Ooh, this was  _so fun_! Why had no one ever told her it was this fun to mess with him?

"W-wait!" Right on cue. Branch bolted toward her, stumbling over the clunky, awkward boots, and threw out a frantic hand. His fingers, warm even through the thick gloves, latched onto her wrist.

Poppy arched her eyebrows. Ooh, she was not gonna make this easy on him! Not in the slightest. "Yes?"

"You—you—" He looked anywhere but at her, purple flush returning to his face with a vengeance, "—you can help, okay? Th-there. I said it. Happy?"

" _Yes!"_  Poppy bounced backward into the pod. "Oh, my gosh, this is gonna be so so so _so_   _much fun—_!"

"Ground rules," Branch said coolly, and jabbed a finger at her, "no singing. No dancing. No running off and telling the village anyway."

"Branch, do you really think I'd break my word?"

"Yes. Without hesitation." He opened up the sack, pulled out a few brightly-colored boxes, and thrust them at her. "Now let's get this over with."

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has come an incredibly long way to tell you guys the truth. I initially thought up the plot right after S1 dropped LAST January ((dfghgfrhgfgb can you BELIEVE this series has survived an entire year)) but I didn't actually do anything with it - I typed up a couple rough drafts here and there, but none of them felt right, and at one point, it even got turned into an RP ((with my buddy EtheriumArt, they have an account on Fanfiction and Tumblr, check them out u cowards)) and I was pretty much on the verge of abandoning it completely, but I decided to give it one more go.
> 
> Fun fact, this is actually only my third time writing from Poppy's perspective ever (Just Friends and One Night being the first two) so I'm very much still learning. How have I been in this fandom for a solid two years now and only written twice from Poppy's POV? blasphemy. she deserves my respect. Anyway, though, the next chapter should be from Branch's point of view, so I'll get back to my regularly scheduled programming then lmao. Honest feedback's very very appreciated! I know I got lots of room to improve, and outsiders' opinions usually help with that. Set several years before the movie, by the way, so Branch and Poppy are both in their teens here!


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